


Dancing with Wolves

by viatorix



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-15
Updated: 2014-03-15
Packaged: 2018-01-15 19:28:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1316539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viatorix/pseuds/viatorix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Athelstan is crucified as an apostate, but saved by Ecbert.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dancing with Wolves

**Author's Note:**

> Like I said, possible spoiler! Based off the crucified!Athelstan theories going around from what we've seen from the previews. Obviously Ecbert/Athelstan sex isn't a plausible theory, but that's why we have fanfiction.

The crucifixion passed like a dream. One minute he strapped to the cross, the next he was being hurried through narrow halls. He felt weak, so weak he could hardly stand, much less walk, but servants pushed him along nonetheless, taking the brunt of his weight most of the time.

He was taken through a maze of halls, to the very back of the castle. He saw faces looking but their features were a blurred mess of colours, and before Athelstan could strain himself to look, they were gone. It was only when a blast of hot air hit him, did he faintly recognise the room he had been taken into. The steam of the bathhouse helped clear the fogginess in his head. There were several man-servants about him, tending to him. One was stripping the hastily layered bandages wrapped around his hands, while another was stripping him of his drawers. Athelstan bit down a gasp of pain, as the wounds on his hands were uncovered to the air. They were a bloody mess, and by the looks of it, someone had tried to close the wounds with amateur stitching. They would heal, but unless it was redone, they would be ugly scars.

A light push at his back made him stumble, yet move toward the steaming waters. It was like fire against his cold skin, but Athelstan grit his teeth and slid down into the green water. The pain in his hands throbbed and the cuts on his forehead itched, though before long they soothed, and an intense tiredness befell him.

 

_Tap, tap. Tap, tap._

 

Athelstan jolted awake, and wildly looked around. The thick steam obscured most of the room, but not the long shadow at his side. He wiped at his mouth, when his eyes swung towards a solid pair of boots, standing on the thick tiles at his back. They belonged to a man, layered in finery, and looming over him with dark, curious eyes.

“You must have been tired.” He spoke with a soothing baritone, which echoed through the bathhouse. But Athelstan did not feel safe. Far from it. There could only be one such as him in Wessex.

“ _Ecbert,_ ” the name stung on his tongue.

“So you know the name of the one that saved you.” He said, as he slowly crouched on his haunches next to Athelstan’s head. Athelstan could not look at him, and instead he stared straight ahead. The water still steamed, yet he felt a shiver rush down his spine. So it was Ecbert that had saved him, but why? They had caught him, and crucified him as an apostate. Just as the Archbishop said they would. Maybe just as he deserved. Why would a King come to his aid?

“Why... did you?” he asked. The boots shuffled, and he felt fingertips at his chin. They gently turned his head toward the man, and Athelstan finally got a good look at his face. Hard, yet edged with a softness. Lined with age, yet all in the right places, and a salt and pepper beard that aided his jaw line well.

“Because I know the truth, boy,” he said simply, like it was obvious. “I know who you are, Monk. I know what they did to you.” He pulled a bath cloth from the step with his other hand, and wet it, before turning Athelstan’s jaw a little further, and bringing the cloth to his blackened eye.

“They enslaved you,” the King said, as he pecked at the flakes of dried blood, staining the cloth a muddy red. “They took you, and your brothers, from your homeland, back to their decrepit lands and forced you to assimilate. To serve them.” He dipped the cloth again and focused on the cuts that marred his forehead. “I have heard stories of similar things in my time. Did your brothers serve too?”

“No. They killed them.” Athelstan answered, confusion and fear, twisting in his gut.

Ecbert hummed. “Unsurprising, yet you survived. It shows your intelligence. “

Athelstan lowered his eyes.

“Why are you helping me?” He inquired meekly.

“Because you, boy, could save us all.” His voice was so gentle, it made Athelstan glance up sharply; looking keenly for the thread of a lie... yet the King’s eyes betrayed nothing.

“You are an Englishman,” Ecbert said, “you may not be of my kingdom, but you are still of my ilk, and I do not blame you for having to do what you did to survive.

“But don’t you see? The Lord has sent you back here with great knowledge; knowledge that could save many of your people. What kind of King would I be, if I did not use this knowledge of these savages to do the same? God placed me upon this throne to protect my people, and He sent you to me. I am not an ungrateful man. “He ran the cloth over Athelstan’s face once more, before standing and leaving Athelstan alone in the pool.

 ** _Maybe he is right_** _,_ a voice slithered forth in his mind. No, how could he be? His _people_ had crucified him, strung him up like a beast and left him to bleed. Ragnar would do no such thing. He had been harsh at times, but never unkind. Memories of long nights echoed in his mind. Some filled with boisterous laughter, others with soft whispers. _No, never unkind._

The sound of rustling cloth brought him out of his revere, and he looked over to where the King was slowly removing himself of his fine clothes. When he finally removed the last, he padded naked to the opposite end of the bath. Athelstan hurriedly looked away, and curled up against the step, endeavouring to preserve if but one of their modesties. When Ecbert had settled in the bath, so did the silence. He stared steadily at Athelstan, and Athelstan stared steadily at the murky water. It seemed like an eternity before Ecbert broke the quiet.

“What is your name, boy? My scouts have told me much about you, but not one of them could catch your name.”

“Athelstan.” he replied hoarsely.

“Ah, noble stone. A fine name, if a little curious for one of your birth.”

“Thank you... Your Majesty.” Tension began to thrum in the air as still Ecbert would not break the intensity of his gaze. A hunger mounted, it was subtle -- in the cords of the King’s neck, and the curling of his fingers against the stone. Ecbert did well to hide it, but Athelstan had seen it far too many times. He’d seen it in Lagertha, as she’d swung her sword. He’d seen it in the Northmen, as they found where the terrified women had hid themselves. He’d seen it in Ragnar, as he watched him from across the feast table.

Athelstan suddenly felt extremely small.

“Another curious thing, is something my scouts reported to me.” Ecbert said as he eased off of his seat, and glided through the water towards Athelstan. “They mentioned that Ragnar Lothbrok kept you close. Now, any moderately intelligent man would, after all, who else has the greatest knowledge of England, but an Englishman?” With the last word he braced he hands either side of Athelstan, crowding him against the brick. Athelstan’s heart pumped wildly, but he swallowed his fear and hoped to whichever God that would hear, that his eyes would not betray his terror.

“But” Ecbert whispered, his breath hot in the monk’s ear, “no man would regard another with such _affection_ as he displayed to you, without other intentions.” Athelstan’s stomach dropped. The game, however one-sided it was, was lost. His heart pounded more than ever, yet Ecbert was not done.

“It was cruel of your parents to lock a creature such as you in a monastery, away from the world” he said, stroking away a piece of hair that had fallen in front of Athelstan’s nose. “You have such beautiful skin. No wonder Ragnar Lothbrok had such endearment for you.”

_Lie. Lie, lie, lie. Lies are your only hope. Lies will save you._

“I don’t think Ragnar noticed,” Athelstan choked, “he just took what he wished.”

Ecbert chuckled, and caressed Athelstan’s jaw. “Savages are typical like that. They take beautiful, exotic things, but lack the intelligence to display them. Instead they beat them, and twist them into something they know; something they can understand.” He traced his fingers down Athelstan’s pale neck to where his heart thundered. “Be calm, Athelstan, You are home now. The Lord will forgive all your trespasses. For that it what he does best.”

 ** _He speaks the truth,_** the poisonous voice returned to coo. **_You will be safe with him._** Turmoil churned like rot in Athelstan’s gut. Ragnar trusted him. He could not betray him to the man in front of him, even as he lightly mouthed at Athelstan’s neck, and delicately trailed his nails _down, down, down_ to brush the Monk’s thigh; an action that caused a traitorous throb in Athelstan’s groin. Ragnar gave him his arm ring. He was one of them. **_He gave you a piece of decorated metal that bound you to him as your Lord._**

Athelstan gasped as Ecbert took hold of his cock, and his treacherous arms wrapped around the King’s neck. **_He abandoned you here._** No, that wasn’t true; it was Athelstan’s choice to stay. Ragnar had to go back and save his family. **_Were you not his paramour? Were you not his family? He didn’t come back for you._** It was his choice ** _._** A sob lodged in Athelstan’s throat.

Ecbert’s hand pumped and twisted at Athelstan’s cock, and Athelstan couldn’t help the noises that escaped him. Whether they were moans, or sobs, he didn’t know, but if they were the latter, Ecbert wasn’t deterred. His other hand smoothed down the Monk’s side, and curled around a buttock, edging close to the crack then teasingly moving away.

 

**_Ragnar Lothbrok enslaved you._ **

 

With a show of wiry strength, Ecbert flipped their positions and pulled Athelstan into his lap, using Athelstan’s heightened position to take a soft, pink nipple in his mouth. His own erection dug almost painfully into Athelstan’s hip. Athelstan keened lowly, the myriad of sensations becoming overpowering. The King returned to trace his crack, casually dipping down to play at his entrance, whilst rolling his tongue over the small bud.

 

**_He moulded you._ **

 

Athelstan needed to be closer. Ecbert had laxed his focus on Athelstan cock, instead fixating wholly on his entrance. He rutted firmly against the King’s hips, causing their erections to grind together. Ecbert hissed through his teeth. That was it. He looked up at Athelstan, his eyes indicating that he was done with playing. Athelstan’s stomach flipped, and the turmoil gurgled. Ecbert suddenly coiled a strong arm around his Athelstan’s hips, making him almost lose his seat on Ecbert’s thighs. The King showed little care as Athelstan grabbed tightly at his biceps to steady himself, rather, his target was slipping a finger into Athelstan’s entrance. Athelstan sharply inhaled as he was breached, before letting out a moan as the burn quickly gave in to pleasure.

 

**_He tried to sacrifice you._ **

 

Ecbert was relentless. Not long after one finger was in, did the other enter. He kept himself composed for the most part, but under it all, Athelstan could see the hunger reaching its peak. The steady ascent, he would say was becoming almost frantic, if he was referring to anyone but King Ecbert. Ecbert only scissored his fingers briefly, before pulling out, leaving Athelstan wanting. He pushed the Monk away to grab at his own cock before roughly pulling Athelstan against his chest and levelling his throbbing erection at Athelstan’s entrance.

 

**_He left you to the wolves._ **

 

Athelstan sunk down on King, sighing as he went, his eyes closed in ecstasy. When he opened his eyes, Ecbert was admiring the view, and when Athelstan leaned down and hesitantly pressed his lips against the King’s, Ecbert smiled.

 

A small voice, hushed and faded, wormed to the front of his mind, reverberating old memories:

 

_He loves you._

 

But Athelstan had stopped listening.

 


End file.
